between your lines and your sleight of hand
by QuietLittleVoices
Summary: Castiel Milton was a writer. Which means he spent more time people watching and 'gathering ideas' than he did actually writing. In which Castiel meets Dean in a coffee shop, and then meets him again later. ((Writer!Cas, Destiel))
1. Prologue

**A/N: **This has been sitting in my drafts _forever_ and I'm finally posting the prologue. I do have the first chapter written, so please let me know if you like this and want to read more. Reviews are very much asked for right now.

* * *

Castiel Milton was a writer. Which means he spent more time people watching and 'gathering ideas' than he did actually writing.

Which was why, when he should have been looking at his laptop and getting serious work done, he was actually looking out into the main area of the coffee shop from his vantage point in the corner. And there was a mostly-blank document sitting open on his computer where his new chapter should be.

_He didn't normally frequent coffee shops_, the document read, _but damn if he didn't need a caffeine fix, and he wasn't going to the Starbucks around the corner, just on principal_.

If Cas was basing off the coffee shop location and appearance loosely on the one he was currently sitting in, well... no one would have to know that. And if anyone _where _to recognize it, then he'd probably have to change where he wrote, but he'd cross that bridge if he came to it.

The writer sat behind his screen and watched for a few more minutes before inspiration finally hit again and he set to typing quickly, his coffee long forgotten. He was lost in his head until someone tapped the top of this screen and cleared their throat, entering his field of awareness. He looked up and into the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. Of their own accord, his fingers tapped out a quick description of them mid-sentence. He'd edit it later. His glare towards the stranger, brought on by the interrupt of his flow, was cut off by the sweet smile that was being given to him.

The man cleared his throat, awkwardly this time. "Your coffee must be cold," he stated. "I thought you might want another one."

And that was when Castiel saw that the man had two cups in his hands. One was gently pushed towards him, and Cas took it gratefully, bringing it to his mouth without hesitation and taking a few cautious sips.

"I didn't know what you take in it," the man admitted. "So it's just black. I hope that's okay."

Castiel nodded. "I take it black anyway."

The man extended his hand over the laptop. "I'm Dean."

"Castiel." And as he said it, he knew what he would be naming his character.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Sorry for taking so long D: This has actually been written since I posted the prologue but I was too lazy to edit it. I've been thinking about doing NaNoWriMo so if I end up doing that, the next chap will be a while, too. Sorry! Don't hate me.

* * *

"Sammy I'm not taking you to some dumb book signing," Dean sighed, knowing he'd give in in three...

Sam knew it, too. "Yes, you are."

Two. "No, I'm not."

The infamous Sam Winchester Bitchface was pulled out. "Yes. You are."

One. "Fine. Get in the car."

* * *

Dean was not one to wait around outside bookstores for hours in line to meet some stuck-up writer, who probably didn't give a single fuck about how cold they were waiting outside. But Sam was, and Dean had agreed, if only on the terms that Sam would relinquish control of the remote to Dean for a month.

After half an hour, they were inside, and Dean sighed as the air warmed up around him. He was wet and miserable from the slight drizzle they'd been in outside.

"What even is this guys name?" Dean grumbled.

Sam scowled. "Castiel Milton."

Dean screwed up his face in concentration. "Castiel Milton," he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue. "Castiel... It rings a bell."

"Probably because I've mentioned him before."

"No, not that." Dean shook his head. "Could swear I've met someone named Castiel before..." He shrugged. "Oh well."

"It's not a common name. You're probably remembering seeing his name on my book when I left it out."

Dean doubted that but he decided not to say that out loud.

* * *

It was another half hour before they reached the front of the line, and now Dean could tell. He knew this man. He didn't know how or from where or when, but he knew him.

"Who am I making this out to?" the author asked with a polite smile as Sam handed him his book.

"Sam," the younger Winchester squeaked. He cleared his throat. "My name's Sam."

Castiel smiled quietly. "Nice to meet you, Sam," he said, signing the inside cover quickly.

That's when Dean spoke up. Well, actually, he was hit with a sudden revelation and blurted, "You're Hot Trench Coat Writer Coffee Guy!"

That's when shocked blue eyes looked over and locked with green.

* * *

Castiel couldn't have predicted the success his book would have had. Not when he'd wrote most of it in bursts of caffeine and alcohol induced haze. But here he was, a fairly notable author with only one book under his belt.

The afternoon was passing by in a blur of name's a faces, 'thank you's and 'I love your book!'s and 'you're welcome's.

And then there it was. A familiar voice, over a year unheard, but he still recognized it. When the words reached his ears, he could smell vanilla and taste coffee on his tongue, hear the clinking of cups and the release of steam. He looked up and saw green eyes, so familiar.

"Dean," he breathed. He never thought he'd see this man, his accidental inspiration, again. But here he was, at his book signing. And then he snapped out of it. Shaking his head slightly, he took one of his business cards out of his pocket and wrote out his personal mobile number on the back, feeling bold. He handed Dean the card with a gleam in his eye. "It's good to see you again. I meant to give you my number, but you left before I finished my coffee."

It was a lie, but only a little one. While Dean _had_ left before he'd finished his coffee, it was also true that Cas had been much too shy to give him his number.

Dean took the card with a grin and put it in his pocket. "I'll call you later... Cas."

* * *

Sam was gaping at him as they left the bookshop. "You didn't tell me you knew him!" he said angrily, hitting Dean with the book.

Dean rubbed his arm. "Ouch. I told you I recognized the name, okay? I met him a long time ago, bought him a coffee. It's not that big a deal!"

"Well are you gonna call him?"

He shrugged. "Mabye. I dunno. 'Stuck up writer' isn't really my type."

Sam hit him again. "You're gonna call him. He gave you his number, Dean!"

"Yeah. Lots of people do. I'm irresistible. Don't always call _them_ back; what makes him so special?"

"I've seen interviews he's done, Dean. He's not a 'stuck up writer'; I actually think you'd really like him if you got to know him."

Dean glared at his little brother. "How the hell would you know? You don't know the guy."

"Just call him, okay?" Sam pleaded.

"I'm not living out your fantasies for you."

Sam glared. "Call him."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. But I'm not promising anything, got it?"

* * *

He didn't wanna call. He sat there on the end of his bed, phone in one hand and business card in the other, and more than anything he _didn't wanna call_. It wasn't that he didn't wanna see Cas again, because he did. God, he did. But it was... kinda intimidating. He was just some guy who'd bought him coffee forever ago.

Sam had given him a copy of the book to read, so he set that down and opened up the front page to read the dedication.

_To benevolent strangers in coffee shops._

_And my brother, Gabriel, who is threatening to disown me if I don't dedicate this book to him, as well._

Dean gaped a little. Was Cas talking about him? That thought gave him the courage the dial the number he'd already memorized.

"Hello?" a gravelly voice asked on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Cas, it's me. Dean," he said awkwardly. "You gave me your number at the book signing earlier today?"

There was silence on the other end of the line and for a minute, Dean was worried he'd already been forgotten.

"I didn't think you'd call."

Dean laughed humourless. "I didn't think so, either. My brother, Sammy, he's a big fan of yours. Blackmailed me to call you. Not that I wouldn't want to in the first place!" he added quickly. "But..." He sighed in frustration. "This is coming out all wrong."

He heard a nervous chuckle on the other end of the line. "You seemed so smooth and charming the first time we met."

"I am smooth and charming. But I'm also getting sick 'cause we were stuck in the rain waiting for your book signing for a half hour." That was a lie. He didn't know why he couldn't be his usual flirty self, but there was something... different about this situation.

"Want to try again?" Cas offered.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." He took a deep breath. "Hey, Cas. It's me, Dean. You gave me your number earlier at the book signing."

"Yes, I remember." There was a smile obvious in his voice, and thinking about how it would look made Dean smile.

"Good. I was wondering if you'd like to go out some time – see a movie, get dinner. The works."

"I'd like that very much, Dean."

* * *

The only time Dean had been more nervous for a date was when he was fifteen. And after all his efforts at 'cleaning up', he ended up in jeans, a t-shirt, and his old leather jacket. He was meeting Cas at the small movie theatre that was only a stone's throw from the apartment he shared with Sam. He was a little worried it would be too ratty for Cas and his fancy writer tastes, but it was all he could afford.

When he pulled up out front in his Impala, he saw that Cas was already there, waiting out front. The movie theatre was old, so the ticket booth was out front. Dean parked, got out of the car, and walked over to the writer with a grin. "Anything catching your eyes?" he asked.

Cas turned and looked him up and down slowly. "It's possible."

Dean didn't blush. He _didn't_. "You're lookin' pretty good yourself," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I think that one looks good," he offered, pointing at the poster Cas had been looking at.

"So do I," the writer agreed.

They bought their tickets and when they walked into the theatre, they were some of the few there. It didn't get much traffic usually, anyway, so Dean wasn't surprised, and they got to sit in the very middle. "I had my first makeout session in the back row here," Dean blurted while they waited for the movie to start.

Cas looked at him, eyes shocked, and Dean was worried that that had been a much stupider comment than he'd thought, then Cas started laughing. And Dean couldn't help but think Cas' laugh was pretty great, so the embarrassment was worth it.

* * *

After the movie, they left the theatre in a bit of a daze.

"That was terrible," Dean said first with a small laugh.

Cas smirked. "It was. The poster made it seem much more interesting than it was."

Dean shrugged. "That's what we get for goin' in without checking what it's about." He stretched a little, reaching his arms over his head, and he didn't miss the way Cas' eyes slid down his body. "What do you wanna do now?" he asked. "There's a great diner I know just down the street."

"That sounds perfect."

* * *

The sounds Cas made around the burger where nearly pornographic, and Dean kept shifting uncomfortably across from him in the booth as they ate. The guy obviously didn't know what he was doing... right?

"This is the best burger I've ever had," Cas said about half way through, looking at Dean over the table.

Dean couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, Ellen made 'em special. She's awesome."

"You know the chef?" the writer asked, wiping his mouth.

He nodded. "Yup. She practically raised me. Used to work here part time 'fore I finished college and could help on the business side of things at Bobby's."

Cas bit into his burger again. "What's 'Bobby's'?"

"Auto repair shop," he answered easily. "But that's not really interesting. What's it like being a famous author?" His tone was light, almost teasing.

"Writing's not interesting, either," Cas contested. "I spend hours alone in my apartment with my laptop open. Sometimes I go to coffee shops. Most times I play minesweeper and studiously ignore my publisher's calls."

Dean laughed and Cas grinned at him. "You think I'm joking," the blue eyed man continued, his tone gravely serious but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth showed that he wasn't.

"I do a bit, yeah," the mechanic answered, nodding and hiding a laugh.

Cas composed his expression. "Since this date started I have received and ignored three calls from my publisher." He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen, showing Dean the number. "Believe me now?"

Dean nodded.

* * *

They were laughing slightly as they walked up together to Dean's door and then stopped when they ended up standing in front of the apartment building, looking at each other.

Cas cleared his throat, "Dean, I have something to tell you..."

"If you didn't enjoy the date, just say," Dean interrupted. "Don't embellish it, just tell me it was shitty. But I'll have you know that was the most fun I've had in a while and I'd _really_ like to do it again."

"That isn't what I was going to say."

"Then what?"

He shifted awkwardly. "I had a lot of fun as well, and I would like to see you again, but... there is a small issue."

Dean waited, biting his lip to keep from interrupting.

"The, uh... as an author, and a fairly publicly known one, I have to keep... certain appearances. If we started doing this with any regularity..." he trailed off and looked to Dean for some sort of reaction and found none. "It would have to be a secret," he concluded. Dean nodded slowly, but Cas wasn't looking at him anymore. "I understand if you don't want to do that. Really, I do. And I wouldn't blame you if you sent me away now and had nothing do with me. But... if you're willing then –"

This time, Dean felt justified in his interruption, as he quickly leaned forwards to close the distance and press his lips against the writer's. "I'm willing."


End file.
